The Thousand Emperors

down at the ground.

‘Mr Gabion?’

‘I . . .’

A high-pitched humming filled his ears. He thought he heard a voice, but far away, and lost in the noise. There was something familiar about it. He staggered slightly as a terrible, throbbing pain consumed his thoughts.

‘Gabion? What is it?’ demanded de Almeida. ‘Another seizure?’

He managed to nod, and she reached up with her other hand, pressing gloved fingers against his scalp. Her touch was softer, more delicate than he’d expected. She was close enough that he could smell her, and for some reason he found himself thinking of Eleanor spread beneath him, her skin painted with perspiration.

‘What are you doing?’ he mumbled.

‘Pulling data from the neural taps I put in your skull the other day,’ she said distractedly. ‘The growth-rate of your lattice is accelerating.’

Shit. ‘Can you do something?’ he pleaded, feeling a surge of panic.

‘I can only do my best,’ she muttered, and after a moment the pain slowly faded once more to a distant numbness. The relief was overwhelming.

‘What did you do?’

‘I made some temporary adjustments,’ she said, taking her hand from his scalp and stepping back. ‘Better?’

He nodded.

‘Now you have another reason to come back to Vanaheim. While you’re there, I can do more to help you.’

‘Not if I’m only there as a data-ghost.’

‘That’s only a temporary measure,’ she assured him. ‘I’ll bring you there in person soon enough.’

Even if you didn’t kill Vasili, I can’t think of anyone in a better position to do it, he thought.

He glanced up at a faint hum from above, and watched as a flier dropped down from out of the gloom, settling onto the road nearby.

‘I’ll send a flier for you tomorrow, just before the service,’ she said. ‘It’ll take you to a private office on the White Palace. Once there, you’ll be able to data-ghost to Vanaheim.’

‘Fine,’ said Luc, and watched as de Almeida walked away, her long, dark coat swaying with the movement of her hips as she boarded the flier. His eyes followed the craft as it lifted on AG fields that bowed the rain around its hull before finally speeding upwards and into the sky.

NINE

Luc dreamed he was back on Aeschere, lost in claustrophobic passageways crowded with mandalas and leering statues.

This isn’t real, he gasped as Antonov leaned over him, playing with the wriggling worm-like mechant.

Very astute, Antonov replied, grinning down at him. You’ve met Zelia by now, haven’t you? Be careful of that one.

Luc struggled to free himself from the chair he had been bound to. Don’t do this to me, he cried. I can’t go through this again.

I wish I could stop this, Mr Gabion, said Antonov, shaking his head sadly, I really do. But this isn’t the kind of dream where you can pinch yourself and wake up; you know that already. You’re reliving all this because there’s a war inside your skull, and I’m winning.

No. Zelia de Almeida is helping me. She’ll undo whatever damage you’ve done to me.

The neuro-suppressants she put inside you? They only suppress your conscious awareness of a process that can’t be stopped. Didn’t she tell you that?

She told me she could save me!

Antonov laughed a rich, hearty laugh, leaning back and raising his face to the ceiling. She’s bluffing, he said, bringing his gaze back down. Or maybe she thinks she really can retard the lattice’s growth, but I seriously doubt it. What I put inside your head is far in advance of the kind of technology even the Temur Council allow themselves. No, my dear boy, she’s more interested in saving her own skin than anything else. At best, you’re a puzzle to be unlocked, so she can find out what I’m really up to.

Then why not just tell me why you put this thing inside me, damn it! Luc screamed.

Because we are engaged in a game, Luc – and a very dangerous one, Antonov replied. And it is never a good idea to show one’s hand too soon.

You’re killing me because I found a way to stop you.

Antonov looked confused for a moment. You think this is about revenge? He shook